Episode Tag 1 x 5: Redwood
by Mlee.Write
Summary: Tag for Redwood. Part of the Super Duper Tag Project. Rated T for some language.


Here's my first tag for the Super Duper Tag Project. It's from season 1: Redwood.

Rated T for some language. Hope you enjoy. Reviews are awesome.

Episode Tag: Redwood

Karma was a bitch, Jane thought, as he settled in the passenger seat of the government owned sedan. Lisbon put the key in the ignition and started the car, heading for the highway and the long drive back to Sacramento. He was angry, at himself and at the universe. Even though he'd maintained a friendly banter with Lisbon, inside he seethed.

Strains of _Fur Elise_ floated in his head cruelly.

The car smelled of coffee and faintly of cigarette smoke, despite the fact that all CBI owned vehicles were supposed to be non-smoking. Lisbon fiddled with the radio, settling on a jazz station. She didn't try to a start a conversation, and he was grateful.

Jane had assumed that he'd reaped a whole pile of bad karma when Angela and Charlotte were killed. He'd committed the ultimate error in judgment, let his pride get the better of him. Angela had always warned him against thinking he was the smartest man in the room. Someone, someday, was bound to be smarter. He wondered if the murder of his wife and child wasn't just his payment for taunting for Red John, but for a lifetime filled with cons and lies.

Once upon a time he'd had no compunction about using people. He still didn't, really, he was just more cautious.

Jane had assumed that the to key to his success in hunting down and killing Red John was that he had nothing left to lose. That made him profoundly dangerous. He was willing to sacrifice everything, his personal comfort, his ill-gotten fortune, his entire life if it meant murdering the man who had taken his wife and child.

There was comfort in knowing that things possibly couldn't get worse. That he couldn't feel that level of terror or pain again in his life. It was unachievable.

"_Tell Rigsby that Teresa needs his help."_

Turned out he was wrong.

The moment he'd realized that Lisbon was with the killer in a remote location, alone, he'd felt that familiar wave of panic hit him again. It was like drowning, unable to draw in enough breath, helpless to do anything. His hands had felt numb and cold. His pulse had raced in his throat.

Once he was assured she was safe, that the whole thing was over, he'd walked a short way into the forest and thrown up his eggs and tea.

He was mad. He was mad that he cared that much, again. He shouldn't, had tried not to. It was the sort of thing that only compromised his mission. The CBI agents he worked with, Lisbon especially, were only a means to an end, a tool to finding Red John. It was fine that he engaged in friendly banter, or enjoyed closed case pizza, or developed some level of friendship with them. It was natural. But when it came down to the wire, he couldn't afford to care.

He glanced at Lisbon out of the corner of his eye. She was focused on the road, her mind wandering to who-knows-where. She was a competent woman, far too compassionate, a little bit funny. She was pretty. But in the end he was would sacrifice her if that's what it took to get Red John. He'd sacrifice all of them, if he had to. Cho, Rigsby, Van Pelt. He'd give each of them up as easily as a chess piece.

Lisbon was his queen though. The most powerful, unpredictable piece on the board. She was very likely his key to finding Red John. If there was anyone other than himself capable of unearthing the serial killer, it was Lisbon.

But sometimes you had to sacrifice your queen to win. Oftentimes, actually.

He tried not to think about the racing of his pulse when he thought about that, about the acrid nausea at the back of his throat. He tried not to think about Lisbon refusing to talk to him ever again. He tried not to think about betraying her unwisely given trust. Even though he desperately willed his brain away, he could picture her on a slab in the morgue. God, he hoped it never came to that.

But if it was Red John or Lisbon?

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, marveling at the fact that once upon a time he hadn't cared about anyone at all. He'd cheat a nun if he thought he could line his pockets. Cops were something to be avoided, abhorred.

Now, after seeing so much pain, so many victims, he found himself caring too much. Still not very much by anyone else's standards, but too much for him. Now when he _had_ to be cold.

"You feeling alright, Jane?" Lisbon asked. "You looked piqued."

"Just tired," he muttered.

"Take a nap," she offered, and switched off the radio.

He couldn't afford her kindness or her friendship.

_I'm sorry, Lisbon _he thought.


End file.
